


This House Is Not A Home

by Winter_Genisis



Series: Reunification [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: ALL ABOARD THE ANGST TRAIN, Angst, Dark Hetalia, Darkfic, Drugs, Germancest, Historical, Kinda?, M/M, No Smut, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Unrequited Crush, also i've never written lutz before soooo, but - Freeform, dark prussia, for now, honhonhon, i have to hurt you first, let me know your thots?, no happy ending, please have a little trust!!!, since this is a series, there is a light at the end of the tunnel I swear it!!!, what the duck constitutes dark prussia, who knows - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-09-27 02:38:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9946529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winter_Genisis/pseuds/Winter_Genisis
Summary: The first installment of the Reunification Series. Gilbert finally returns to Ludwig. But he is not the same. Germancest is end game of the series, but this is mainly angst.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Let me just say that this fic (this entire series, really) has been a long time coming, and I am very excited to be starting! I did say I would update on Sundays, but not every Sunday, unfortunately. This fic is taking a backburner to Anarchy in the US, which is where I am putting the majority of my energy at the moment. But it will be finished, and the series will be continued!!!
> 
> Note that Ludwig's dogs are not Blackie, Berlitz and Aster, but new dogs. I don't share the headcanon that Ludwig's dogs are weirdly immortal like Gilbert's fucking canary lmao I know in canon, it's different. But this is just how I'm writing it.
> 
> Another thing to note is that in the flashbacks, Gilbert's name is never mentioned unless someone is speaking. Gilbert is referred to as He, Him, Brother, etc, the words capitalized with proper nouns. This just feels like the right thing to do, as though Ludwig hurts too much remembering these things and almost can't bear to mention Gilbert's name. The fic starts with a date, and then a flashback. Sooooo basically, the what's happening in the flashback is omg -- in the past!!! not happening on the 10th of October!!! Ludwig is just remembering it.
> 
> Songs used in this chapter: This House Is Not A Home by Three Days Grace; See What I've Become by Two Steps From Hell; Necrosis by Future World Music; When It All Falls Down by Audiomachine; If I Had A Heart by Fever Ray; Drink The Water by Justin Cross

**_10 October, 1990._ **

_"Luddy," Elizaveta regarded Ludwig with something like pity, placing a gentle hand on his arm. "Honey, it's great that he's free, now. We're all happy about that. Honestly, none of us can believe he lived through what he did..." She sighed, pulling her hand away to daintily lift the ornate China tea cup to her lips. "It's just..."_

_Ludwig raised his eyebrows when Roderich, eyes downcast, placed a supportive arm around Elizaveta._

_"Just tell me." It was a whisper, his breath trembling on the air._

_The Hungarian looked up at him, eyes large and sad, full of remorse -- as though this was somehow her fault. "Ludwig, he's changed. He's not... He's not the man any of us thought we knew._

_Ludwig looked at her for a moment, then leaned back and scoffed. This woman, working him up into a tizzy when he was high strung enough as it was. "Well of course, he'll be different." He frowned, attempting to get the thoughts across without actually lingering on them. "I can't imagine what he must have gone through over there... And he's... not... He was --" Ludwig cleared his throat and reached for his little cup, much too small and fragile for large, labor-hewn hands. He couldn't say it. None of them could say it, yet. In the beginning it was all anyone talked about, the way He survived his own execution, the way He was stripped of everything, the way He was silent and held His head high through it all.  
_

_"No." Roderich startled the two of them, speaking for the first time since Ludwig's arrival. He'd said_ hello, _he'd said_ it's nice out today, we have cakes and coffee in the kitchen, how are the dogs. _But he hadn't really_ said _anything, nothing of meaning, of import. Ludwig thought, looking back on the relationship between Roderich and He, that the Austrian simply didn't like Him, and was therefore not thinking much about His return._

_"No..." He repeated, lifting his eyes to gaze at Ludwig thoughtfully. "I don't think you understand. Listen to us, Lutz. He's_ not the same. _He's not like you remember. He's... I didn't like him, but I respected him. Now... from what Elizaveta has told me --"  
_

_"Roderich!" She snapped, glancing worriedly over to Ludwig before throwing a savage glare to her husband._

_Roderich held up his hands, attempting to placate her. "All I am saying is, I will reserve my judgement until I meet him." He sighed and pushed his glasses back up his nose. "I imagine we will all need to be here for him... support him at this time. I believe... that this is going to be harder than you think."_

Sunlight streamed in through the window, the dust particles dancing in the air creating an almost fuzzy visual and emphasizing the age of this room, this building. If this room was so dirty that there was dust simply floating in the air, then clearly, the maids had done a poor job of cleaning. Ludwig would have liked to get in here himself with a vacuum and duster, but this was, at the moment, impossible.

He tightened his clasped hands in his lap, his knuckles going white as he sat, one leg crossed over the other in a pose of relaxation. _Look calm, look relaxed, look in control. Give nothing away._ He replayed Gilbert's lessons in his mind as often as he possibly could, and this helped him maintain some semblance of control. On the outside, he knew he looked flawless, cool, relaxed. This facade, however vital, was of no comfort to him.

Ludwig felt as though he were on the verge of a mental breakdown, though because he was so excited and relieved, or truly frightened and anxious, he wasn't sure. The words of Roderich and Elizaveta rung in his head, over and over like a dirge, and with each _Ludwig, he's changed_ came a wave of nausea that made him seriously consider grabbing the waste basket and pulling it closer.

A door finally opened, and Ludwig jolted up out of the chair like he'd been electrocuted, his body standing rigidly at attention.

"At ease, General, it's just some of us beaurocrats." A man walked into the office with a wry smile to him, followed by two others, a man and a woman.

The man who'd spoken was as tall as he was round, a large man in every sense. Stringy brown hair seemed to drip into his face until he pushed it back with a big, meaty hand. Small, narrow eyes regarded Ludwig askance from where he strode behind the desk, his body falling heavily into the brown leather chair. He steepled his fingers, gazing at Ludwig meaningfully. The woman, whom Ludwig assumed was a guard, took up position by the door through which they had entered. She had her gun drawn, ready to fire should the need arise. This told Ludwig that his side didn't exactly expect a smooth prisoner return. The man stood quietly next to the desk, a pen and notepad in hand. He guessed the man was here to act as secretary, or record this encounter... but he wasn't sure. Ludwig had been given very few details, only when and where to come, and to wear his dress uniform. If Ludwig remembered properly, the man sitting in the chair was Dieter Brandt.

"General Beilschmidt." When Dieter nodded in greeting to Ludwig, the blond tipped his head back just slightly, accepting the greeting but maintaining a stern, almost imperious sort of composure. He clasped his hands together again to keep them from shaking.

"Where is my brother?" He inquired calmly. Dieter nodded again.

"Gilbert is in the room behind that door." He gestured to the door behind Ludwig, on the opposite wall to the door the three  beaurocrats had just entered. Ludwig sucked in a breath through his nose, and let it out slowly through his mouth.

_Don't shout, don't make a scene. They can't call Gilbert "General" anymore, they can't call him a Lord or a Sir, or..._

_Prussia._

He took another calming breath.

_It wouldn't be appropriate to offer him the titles that have been stripped from him._

Ludwig's heart clenched and spasmed in pain at the thought of his brother losing everything. The anti-Prussian sentiment in the country was _rampant_ , so it was unlikely that Prussia would be reinstated as a country when it was put to the vote in the next year or so. He didn't know how to tell Gilbert that. He didn't know how to do any of this.

But he had to be strong. He had a country to run, and once again, someone to care for.

"Okay." He responded at length. "Okay. Bring him in."

"Ah, ah, ah. Not just yet." Dieter was leafing through some papers in front of him with a frown. There are some things that we need to go over before you take him into custody. Actually --"

"Into _custody?_ "

" _Actually_ , the chancellor should be here by now."

Ludwig got to his feet, nearly knocking his chair back in the process. Rage was simmering just beneath the surface, ready to be unleashed with the next wrong word... but then, Chancellor Helmut Kohl walked into the room.

"Be seated, my friend." It was a command, gentled only by the endearment. Ludwig sat slowly, regarding Hemlut with quickly growing skepticism. "I thought that it might be easier if this came from me." He started. Dieter quickly moved out of the way, and instead the chancellor took a seat behind the desk. "You see... it is a great shock to everyone that after all this, Gilbert still lives."

He didn't like where this was going.

"His health, however, is incredibly poor, and we doubt that he would be able to survive something like an assassination attempt." He played at looking through some of the documents on the desk, but unlike Dieter, was obviously not reading anything. Ludwig settled on digging his fingers into the armrests of the chair. This would, hopefully, prevent him from breaking something or hurting someone. "What we -- what _I_  would suggest, is to simply dispatch the issue immediately."

"So in layman's terms," Ludwig hissed, his monotone carrying more menace than the angriest cries he could currently summon. "What you mean to say, is that you want him dead."

"To be blunt, yes."

At the sound of upholstery being savagely ripped apart, Ludwig had known he'd failed in his self-appointed task not to destroy anything. His eyes numbly travelled down to the armrests. He didn't even feel himself claw through them. The entire room was silent, watching, waiting to see what Ludwig would do. He took a deep, shuddering breath in. He could not harm these people. He would not harm his own people. Never again. That being said...

"I won't let you."

"Excuse me?" Dieter replied, aghast. "This is your chancellor! You can't just do as you please after he's told you what's what!"

"I said," Ludwig replied flatly, levelling his sharp blue eyes at Dieter. "I won't let you."

"Now, now." Hemlut placated. "I thought you might say that. So I have devised a plan. Gilbert is a war criminal. In addition to the atrocities committed in World War Two, he has continued with his cruelty by leading the Stasi, the East German sec --"

"I know what the Stasi is." Ludwig cut him off. His mouth almost ran away from him; he could have told them exactly what he thought of Gilbert's supposed war crimes, because honestly had anyone ever considered the position they'd put him in?

"Then you'll know that Gilbert is a dangerous man."

Ludwig leaned forward, pinning Hemlut with his glare. "We all are." He left it at that, letting the statement hang in the air like a warning. They had to get on with this or else the blond really _would_ throw up. He was too angry, too upset, too anxious, too _exhausted_ to keep up with this stupid game much longer. All he wanted was Gilbert. His sweet, protective, funny, intelligent, beautiful Gilbert.

Hemlut blinked at him, trying not to be cowed at what Ludwig was implying. He had no way of knowing that Ludwig would never harm him, and the blond wanted to use that to his advantage.

Hemlut sighed. "You may take him home... Although you may be upset to find that we searched the premises and... _confiscated_ some things. For safety reasons."

Ludwig narrowed his eyes, holding in an angry growl. "Alright. Fine." He replied curtly. "Just give my brother to me."

"The conditions," Hemlut continued, actually reading through the papers now, "Are as follows: Your property will be watched at all times. We gave you privacy in that we did not bug any of your homes -- please feel free to visit each and check -- so inside your home you may breathe easy." He looked up to Ludwig. "I personally hold no qualms against you or your brother. But this will be difficult for you." He sighed, moving on as though that small blip of emotion had not broken through. "Gilbert cannot leave the house without you, or a police escort. If you leave the country and intend to bring him with you, you must contact my office and make us aware so that someone can accompany the two of you. If Gilbert is not with you, he will be treated as though under house arrest." The chancellor neatly stacked the papers and set them back on the desk. "You see, much of this is for show. But we must make our people feel safe, must we not? Also," He gave Ludwig a meaningful look. "We must appreciate that there is a real possibility that Gilbert could be assassinated. As I said, it's something he very well may not live through, in his condition. These rules would protect him."

Ludwig looked down into his lap, shaking his head. Maybe that was how they were justifying it, and Ludwig couldn't exactly say that they were wrong, but... he felt defeated. The alternative was death. He had no choice.

"I'm guessing there's no negotiating this?"

"You've guessed correctly."

Ludwig stood up. He could not give into the urge of wearily rubbing his face, of hunching over with a deep, defeated sigh, of wrapping his arms around himself and squeezing his eyes shut. No, he must stand tall and proud, even in the face of adversity. Just like Gilbert had. That image would be stuck in his mind forever. That image gave him the strength to do what he could to tamp down his emotions.

_They walked Him out, iron clinking around His wrists and ankles. His expression was unreadable, but Ludwig couldn't have seen it clearly anyway, through the tears he struggled not to shed._

_"All rise."_

_Ludwig was already standing. He'd stood the moment the doors opened for Him to exit into the yard_ _. He wouldn't meet Ludwig's eyes, and the blond bit his lip in an attempt not to scream and throw himself at his Brother._

_"General Gilbert Chlothar Lenert Beilschmidt, Grand Master of the Order of Brothers of the German House of Saint Mary in Jerusalem, Duke of the Duchy of Prussia and Lord of the Kingdom of Brandenburg-Prussia, Prince of the Kingdom of Prussia, leader of the Free State of Prussia." The large man took a deep puff of his cigar. "I, Sir Major Winston Churchill, advocate for your dissolution and execution."_

_"So we've bloody heard --" Arthur muttered irritably somewhere in the background, but is spoken over by his leader._

_"All in favor?"_

_"Aye."_ Chiang Kai-Shek. China. _Yao's eyes passed over Ludwig and Gilbert with unconcealed disgust._

_"Aye."_ Harry Truman. America. _Alfred wasn't looking at either of them. He was resting his face in his hands._

_"Aye."_ Vincent Auriol. France. _Francis stared at Gilbert as though there was nothing else in the room, something like shock slowly creeping across his sallow visage._

_There was a long pause, before Winston said, "Aye," as though it were a question, peering over at the Russian leader expectantly. But Joseph Stalin, staring at Ludwig's Brother's proud form, slowly shook his head._

_"Nay."_

_For a moment, the room was silent. Everyone stared at the leader of the Soviet Union, including Ivan. His face was unreadable as he loomed behind Stalin's chair.  Winston slammed his hand on the table._

_"So it's decided!" He exclaimed. "Prussia shall be dissolved and the representative shall be executed. I hearby strip you, Gilbert Chlothar Lenert Beilschmidt, of all titles. Boys, make him kneel."_

_"No!" Ludwig finally screamed. "Brother --"_

_"Hold him."_

_Alfred suddenly had his arms around Ludwig, keeping him in place with iron strength._ _Men marched up next to Him, forcing Him down to His knees. One held a gun to the back of His head. "How's it feel?" He sneered. "You're about to die the same way you killed so many --"_

_"Silence!" Truman stared the soldier down until the man bowed his head. "Now then," he returned his gaze to Him. "Any last words?"_

_"Just shoot him, already." Winston muttered, but Arthur's heated retort was drowned out the second He opened His mouth._

_"Ludwig." He looked straight at him, his gaze strong and unwavering. "I love you." He'd never said that before. Never. Ludwig's mouth dropped open, wanting to reply, to go to Him,_ anything. _He started struggling against Alfred once more, until He spoke again. "These will be my last orders to you: watch, but do not move, and keep your composure. Don't say a word. You have to comply with what they want; you have to be strong for your people."_

Shit, shit, shit.

_A moment passed, as though the soldier with the gun was waiting to see if He would go on. But it was a brief moment, and Ludwig did not look away, did not move, did not make a sound when he watched the bullet pass through His brain. That was all he saw, the gunshot was all he heard, those blood red eye staring into his own with an intensity that was out of this world, the light leaving them abruptly. He saw it, heard it, over and over and over. He didn't realize how long it had been, but he was being walked out by a very grim Alfred. The American sat him on a lush red couch, and opened his mouth to speak to him, when someone rushed into the room._

_"I don't know --" He was panting, his eyes wild. "I don't know what's going on, but he's not dead."_

_Ludwig just stared at the man, not registering the words at all. He was numb, trying to comprehend the death of his Brother, and it was shaking up his world like nothing else ever had in the worst of ways. Now he was being told He_ wasn't _dead? Or not dead_ yet _? Ludwig didn't know what to feel. He_ couldn't _feel._

_"Not dead?" Arthur stepped forward. He stared hard at the man, then peered over to Alfred. "Must've survived the dissolution." A shrug. "He's done it before."_

_Ivan stepped forward. "I am very glad to hear this." He offered a small smile. "I would like to, if I could... take advantage of this. You see, I belive he has another role to play, yet..."_

Ludwig had done what Gilbert had told him to. He'd been strong. He hadn't looked away. Now, maybe _he_ could lean on _Gilbert_ , even just a little, like he'd done in the past. But not right away, of course. He wasn't sure what kind of condition that Gilbert would be in upon his return, but he would wait and see before making any hasty decisions. Ludwig was just relieved that he didn't have to shoulder everything alone anymore.

"If we are in agreement," Hemlut continued, tugging Ludwig out of his reverie. "You may bring Gilbert in."

The door in the back of the room opened, and Ludwig hurried to stand to face his brother. He kept his face carefully blank -- or at least he tried, though he could feel his facade cracking -- as a man walked in. He was a soldier, a Soviet soldier, and he held a chain. Attached to the chain, trailing behind him, shuffled a painfully thin, haggard man, with greasy white hair. An iron collar wrapped around his neck, attached to manacles hanging around skeletal wrists, as well as irons around his ankles, fiercly restricted movement. Gilbert lifted his head, looking blankly around the room before eyes that were all a dull red, only a pinprick of pupil visible, rested on Ludwig. His haunted expression didn't change, not even as the shackles were removed from him. He wore a tattered suit that hung off of his slight frame and fairly dwarfed him... though Ludwig recognized this suit of to be something Gilbert had had custom made for himself in the mid twenties. It was Italian, if he remembered correctly.

So far Gilbert hadn't said a word, and Ludwig's emotions caught up with him as the albino was nudged toward him.

"Did you drug him?" He inquired softly, a cold rage slowly welling up in him.

The soldier scoffed. "This is a smart one." He replied in a strong Russian accent. "If he's drugged, he did it to himself, probably with good reason. Probably to cope with everything."

Ludwig shook his head vehemently, and fairly spat, "No. Never. He would never --" He looked to Gilbert. "Brother." He almost whined, his demeanor changing suddenly. "Please speak." He wanted to latch onto him in a full body embrace, just to feel the comfort of Gilbert's strong arms around him, of that hard body pressing into him and making him ridiculously light headed and comfortable all at once... but he just... couldn't. Not with Gilbert like this. 

As the thought crossed his mind, _I just want everything to go back to normal,_ he realized that Elizaveta was right. He was different. The albino still hadn't said a word. His eyes simply drifted over to Ludwig to stare at him dully. After a moment of staring in this way, Gilbert sighed heavily. It was almost a wheeze, and Ludwig winced. He started shuffling to the other door, obviously making to leave, and Ludwig looked to Hemlut.

"Are we free to go, sir?"

"Yes." Hemlut nodded. "Remember what I said."

Gilbert looked back to Ludwig with something that might have been confusion or curiosity, but whatever it was disappeared quickly, and his face grew blank and disinterested again. As Ludwig walked him out to the car, he looked over at him, trying to discreetly stare. He had heavy, dark bags under his eyes, and his face -- the sallow, haunted look -- distinctly reminded him of ones he'd observed in the camps.

"Have you been sleeping?"

Gilbert glanced over to him, looking at him for a moment or two longer than necessary, before his eyes slipped back to the front. He gave a minute shake of his head. Ludwig ran around and opened the passenger door for the man, who got in slowly, as though any movement was painful. Ludwig couldn't even be sure about that, though, as his expression had been as immovable as stone.

The drive home was worryingly quiet. Gilbert would only answer yes or no questions, presumably so that he didn't have to speak. He was suddenly glad Roderich had told him to keep any visitors away until Gilbert had reacclimated. 

"I have two new dogs." Ludwig mentioned conversationally. "You'll love them, especially Benno. He's a beautiful German shepard. I can't wait for you to meet them both. They'll love you."

Silence.

And in silence, the rest of the drive occurred.

On the bright side, Gilbert was looking around, taking things in, albeit on a very subtle level. He was showing interest in his surroundings, and responding to things Ludwig said -- some things, at least -- so the man wasn't in shock or damaged in the mind. Or at least Ludwig hoped he wasn't. He tried not to sigh, tried not to let on just how worried he was. He was ecstatic that he had Gilbert back, but the man just... wasn't okay. Not at all. Ludwig was so fucking ungrateful, too, the way he found himself wishing that they could have a nice dinner, and talk, laugh and drink, the way he wished he could rest his head on his brother's lap and feel those deft, slender fingers rake gently over his scalp. 

He promised himself that when Gilbert returned, he'd tell him how he felt. How he'd always felt, really. Ludwig gave a nervous glance to the albino as they pulled into the drive of his suburban home. It was in a lovely, almost scenic neighborhood, and the home was large without being too ostentatious or spacious. It was enough room for himself and two dogs, and he'd like to think it would be enough for Gilbert as well, though it was not a mansion like the man was accustomed to.

"This is your home?"

Ludwig jumped, startled, then tried to cover it up by concentrating on the task of parking.

"Uh," He replied intelligently after a moment. That voice... didn't sound like Gilbert. At all. The albino's voice had always been low and a bit raspy, but he sounded hoarse, as though he were sick. He quickly attempted to gather his faculties as he cut the engine. "I... Yes. One of them."

Gilbert stared at the house for a bit longer, before snorting quietly. Was that _derision_? Ludwig didn't recognize any of these muted emotions from the boisterous Prussian. It was nearly impossible to tell now what he was thinking. Suddenly, a feeling of longing, of misery hit him more intensely than than it ever had in all the years Gilbert was gone. He was right here. _Right here_. But it's like he didn't know the man. They were worlds apart from each other, and Gilbert was keeping everything he may or may not have been feeling locked inside.

He looked to Gilbert again, surprised to find the man staring right at him, a thin eyebrow raised expectantly. He looked a bit impatient, a bit annoyed. Strangely, this relieved Ludwig. Gilbert was showing some attitude. Good. That was good.

"Sorry. I was just thinking." Ludwig got out of the car, locking it behind him.

"Stop thinking and show me to my rooms."

"Umm..." Gilbert would _not_ be happy. "One room. And... it's the basement. Listen," Gilbert had opened his mouth, a soft look of indignation briefly swimming across his visage, but Ludwig rolled on over him as he unlocked the door. "I refurbished it myself, and I hope it's comfortable for you. It's quite spacious, it's essentially an entire floor all on it's own. So... the layout is big. If you want more than the one open room -- which I figured you might -- you can build it yourself. I'll supply you with whatever you need. Just ask, and it's yours."

He felt Gilbert's eyes bore into him. The albino shut the front door behind him, and mimicked Ludwig's actions of removing his shoes.

"The basement is...?"

Ludwig walked over to a door, where a wall seperated the entryway and the kitchen. "Down through here. There's a bathroom down there with a bath and shower as well; I've stocked it with all the necesseties."

Gilbert breezed passed him, hardly acknowledging this nicety, and before he could so much as say _Welcome home_ , Gilbert had slammed the door in his face. He stood there for a good while. His dogs had been snuffling around his hands, but now they were gone. He wasn't sure when they'd left. It was dark outside, now, and though the house had many windows, very little light was coming in?

How long had he been standing here?

Ludwig shook his head at himself. He was being ridiculous. Taking a deep breath, he started towards the kitchen to make something to eat, when he felt something wet slide down his face. 

_Am I... crying?_

He was such an idiot. Such a weak fucking idiot. He rubbed his eyes with some vestigal anger, and turned to go to the stairs instead. He didn't need dinner. He didn't feel much like eating, actually. He made a bee line to his room, fell onto the bed, and let the tears fall. He didn't realize he hadn't taken off his clothes until the morning sun was high in the sky.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:
> 
> (For full effect with example pics, see my Wattpad post http://my.w.tt/UiNb/AThMltrqnC)
> 
> This is a very long chapter, guys! I wanted to fit everything in and I only really want this fic to be like. 3 chapters. So this chapter actually had more packed into it than I originally accounted for but whatever. I'm not gonna lie I'm really nervous about posting it!
> 
> IMPORTANT please never forget that we are just coming out of the hellacious '80's and entering the 90's c00l k1d corner
> 
> Also for reference the scene in Ludwig's gym is in February, and the end scene is in mid to early March, so it's still pretty cool out (not to mention windy), especially at night.
> 
> Magnus is Matthias. I just think Magnus is cooler. Annnnd Alisdair is of course Scotland. And there is a Sigfried Beilschmidt mentioned -- he's Saxony.
> 
> Writing Playlist: Rosenrot by Rammstein; Save Me From Myself by Sirenia; Dim Days Of Dolor by Sirenia; Suffer the Children by Napalm Death; Social Sterility by Napalm Death; Warrior by Beth Crowley; Bury Us All by As I Lay Dying; We'll Sleep When We're Dead by blessthefall

 

_"How is he doing?"_

_The same question, put to him daily, voice laced with more and more trepidation each time._

_"I don't know."_

_The same answer, repeated daily, voice laced with more and more defeat each time._

_"Oh, honey..." Ludwig sighed heavily at the disappointment in Elizaveta's tone. It wasn't toward_ him _, he_ knew _that -- it wasn't even toward Gilbert. But he felt the sting nonetheless._

_"Liz, I haven't seen him in a week." He  didn't bother to conceal his plaintiveness. "I mean, I know he's eating... and I'm pretty sure he's put away almost all of my alcohol since he's gotten here. But I haven't_ seen _him."_

_He was in bed, his dogs piled together all around him, knees pulled to his chest. He was pretty sure that Gilbert never came up here, but he was still nervous, talking about him to other people. As though the albino would just somehow know._

_"I just don't know what to do at this point." Admitting it was hard. But he needed help._

_"Luddy, I don't know what to tell you. He's always been such a stubborn man, and he's so incredibly independent... He'd rather do everything alone, even if he doesn't need to."_

_Ludwig impatiently pushed his fingers through his hair. "But he just got back. It's like he hates me. The least he could do is show himself to me!"_

_"I know it hurts, honey." There was a pause, and then, "If you want to talk to him so badly, then knock on the door. It's important that you make sure he realizes you're still respecting his privacy."_

The first time Ludwig knocked on the door, there was no answer. In fact, he couldn't hear a damned thing from the other side. He sighed, a bone deep sadness washing over him like a gentle, chilling wave. He'd taken two weeks off of work for this -- hoping to spend time with Gilbert, help him reacclimate and possibly even discuss some responsiblilities that could be given him, if he were willing.

Ludwig went back to work tomorrow.

The second time he'd knocked on the door, it had been the same. And the third, and the fourth. Ludwig realized that food was no longer turning up missing. He wondered if Gilbert even ventured up after the first week or so. He'd never heard the man use the bathroom or take a shower, but perhaps that was simply because Gilbert did those things when Ludwig wasn't around.

In the blond's opinion, things had gone too far. The disturbing thought that he may not even find Gilbert down there nagged at the back of his mind, a constant demon in the shadows, staring at him, waiting to devour him, never for a second letting him forget that Gilbert was not a Nation, that Gilbert was so weak and could die so easily and why not? He had no purpose any longer -- unless Ludwig _gave_ that to him. But even that thought darkened his already dour mood. The fact that he was already assuming that Gilbert had nothing without Ludwig hand feeding him was base and presumptuous. The denial that some miniscule part of him clung to couldn't understand when Ludwig had begun thinking of his handsome, vivacious brother as anything less than what he had always been to the blond's bright, awe-filled gaze.

A god.

It was with these thoughts thrashing around in the quagmire of his mind that his thick fingers put a small, delicate key into the lock on the basement door. He turned it carefully, quietly, some small part of him wary of invoking Gilbert's ire at being disturbed, his privacy being violated. He'd always been a rather secretive man -- not by design, but while he was lively and loud out and about, he was a very private and reserved person in the home. Ludwig used to agonize over who might be the _real_ Gilbert, but he'd long since realized that both parts were simply facets of him. The albino was a deeply complex personality, and Ludwig loved him for it. He was not a little proud that he'd always been able to read Gilbert so easily, though it seemed silly since Ludwig couldn't read many others even half as well.

That initial trepidation stuck with him surely as Ludwig carefully turned the knob, wincing at the squeak it made and nearly flinching when the door groaned open. Like a hard wind, the most hideous stench immediately assaulted his nostrils, burning and making his eyes water.

"Gilbert?" He called softly.

No answser.

Covering his mouth and nose with the collar of his shirt (it didn't help, but it was something about the action, as though he wasn't getting all of the germs and filth of the air into his lungs.), he continued his descent, calling his brother again -- louder, this time -- when he was almost at the landing,

Still no answer.

It was pitch black - he couldn't see a thing. Had Gilbert been down here in the dark this whole time? The thought seemed absurd -- perhaps he was sleeping. Satisfied with that, he kept the light off, and was opening his mouth to call out again, when he heard it -- a whimper.

"Gilbert?" Urgency filled Ludwig's tone, now, though he still hesitated to turn on the light. Now, it was because he was afraid of what he might see.

Another sound, though this time it was a groan. It was quiet and weak, but sounded either exasperated or resigned, Ludwig couldn't decide which. Nevertheless, he took a deep breath, and turned on the light.

He didn't know what he was expecting. But it wasn't this.

Boxes of food bars were scattered on the floor, some empty but most not. The wrappers were carelessly tossed, and insects were just beginning to find the crumbs. There were also crackers, and plenty of them. Ludwig was almost positive that all of the crackers currently in his home were here in the basement. And there were countless bottles of water, one of which appeared to be glued to the floor by a splatter of vomit. There were other spots like that in the room -- and it looked like a couple of times Gilbert had tried to run into the bathroom to cleanly upend his stomach in the toilet, but hadn't made it. Those spots seemed upon immediate examination to be the oldest.

The man in question was splayed out on a sweat soaked bed, still clutched an empty bottle of water in skeletal fingers. He was completely naked, and Ludwig's stomach lurched at his brother's appearance. He was no longer the strong, robust -- if always fairly svelt -- man he'd once known. The blond could count each rib, all the way up into Gilbert's sternum, and each limb seemed likely to snap in half at the slightest strain. HIs arms were speckled with bruise-like pinpricks up and down both arms, but concentrated in the right arm. Ludwig's eyes quickly skipped over that, not willing to think on it. His face was sickly and sallow, looking even worse than he had when Ludwig first saw him, and his entire body was physically wracked with guilt at seeing how drool poured slowly from Gilbert's mouth, his sunken, glazed eyes staring out vacantly at Ludwig. But as the larger man moved, he could see that those dull eyes were in fact actively trained on him.

So Gilbert was aware.

Just then, deep, shuddering chills wracked the albino's weak body, and he wretched once, though nothing came up. Ludwig pressed the back of his hand to Gilbert's face, then the front, and frowned at how his brother seemed to almost flinch at the contact. His skin was on fire, and sticky with sweat. But he _was_ sweating, so whatever sort of illness he had, the fever was breaking.

"Brother," He murmured gently, kneeling by bed. "Can you stand?"

Gilbert continued to look at him, the only sound escaping him a soft moan.

So he was too weak to even form words.

"Forgive me." Cringing at stealing Gilbert's dignity when he possessed naught else, he carefully lifted him, positioning him on his back.

He didn't even want to think about bathing him down here. The stench was _unreal_  and it was so terribly unclean. He couldn't stand to be in this place longer than necessary. It almost hurt to close the door on the basement -- he wanted so badly to air it out, but he should put the dogs outside first so that they didn't get into anything down there. With a sigh, he began up the stairs with Gilbert's dangerously light weight upon his back, and thought with regret that it would be a good while until he would be able to clean the basement. Gilbert could stay in a guest room for now. It wasn't even half as big as the basement, but it would have to do until everything was clean. He considered briefly bringing in a HAZMAT unit.

Ever so gently, he laid Gilbert out in the tub.

"I'll be right back. I'm just getting some towels." Gilbert didn't respond and Ludwig hadn't expected it.

Outside of the bathroom, his German shepard, Benno, was whining at him and pressing his wet nose against Ludwig's hand with fervor. It was unfortunate, but he couldn't delay, and swiped his hand along Benno's back.

"Not now, boy."

Ludwig grabbed two towels, a wash cloth, and a brand new luffa from the linen closet before turning back around to the bathroom. Upon opening the door, he noted with some alarm that Gilbert had managed to wrap his arms around himself, and was violently shivering. Cursing quietly, he dropped the towels and turned on the water, painstakingly checking the temperature until it was perfect. He blocked the drain and took a seat on the lid of the toilet as he waited for water to fill the tub.

He didn't even know what to say to his brother.

Obviously, from the stockpile of food and water (pointedly, easily digestible food), Gilbert had known that something like this would happen to him. Perhaps he didn't think it would be this bad, though -- he was like a cat in that he would hide illness or discomfort for as long as possible before slinking off to some dark corner to nurse his wounds alone. Though, one can't just assume that one will be _sick_ a week or so before it even happens. Most colds and viruses last at most around twelve days, and he seemed fine when he came home... all things considered. Malnurished, perhaps, and really fucking high, but all around pretty stable, physically speaking.

But that soldier who'd told Ludwig that the albino was probably purposely high, that he himself had probably chosen that... It had never left the blond's mind. Ludwig may have been sheltered as a child. But he'd grown, he'd seen things. And he had never been stupid. He knew exactly what was going on with Gilbert, though part of him was trying even now to deny it despite the needle tracks on his arms. But those merely solidified his hypothethsis.

This was drug withdrawal, and Gilbert had probably seen it coming from a mile away, preparing on his own for it as best as he could.

Ludwig turned off the faucet and knelt down beside the tub, dismayed as he watched Gilbert turn his head away from him, leaning his forehead against the wall. The blond could only imagine how he felt like this, naked and ill and unable to help himself. He had to be bathed as though he were inferm (which he was) and had no say in the matter. He decided that some of the flush on his cheeks and his shoulders must be from humiliation, rather than fever.

With a guilty pang, Ludwig thought that was maybe a good thing -- any humiliation he's received up to now hasn't been enough to desensitize him.

That, or it would never be _enough_  to desensitize him, his pride hopefully remaining unbroken though he may die a little each and every time his dignity is stripped from him in this manner.

"Hey." Ludwig called softly. He couldn't tell if he had the elder's attention or if the man had crawled off somewhere deep inside his mind to deal with this. Regardless, the blond figured he'd better talk to him as though he were listening. He didn't want to not only shame him, but treat him as though he were no better than a vegetable, a human doll. "I'm going to start on your hair, okay? Close your eyes."

Gilbert did in fact close his eyes, as he was asked, and he shuddered as water was poured over his head. The second time, he almost flinched away from it, jerking very slightly then stilling, immovable for the next two douses. Ludwig hated to think why he would react like this. He couldn't even stand to dwell on it.

He poured shampoo into his hand. He could tell it had been nothing short of an age since Gilbert had last bathed, and he had to run shampoo through the oily hair thrice before it was back to its original clean white. But it was dull, there was no life to it, just like there was no life in the man's once bright, mercurial red eyes.

With the last bucket of water, Gilbert's hair was clean and soap-free. He wondered if maybe Gilbert couldn't at least wash his face and... his more _private_ areas on his own.

"Gil," he murmured. "Do you think you could use this cloth to wash your face?" He handed the dampened, soapy wash cloth to Gilbert, and to his genuine surprise, the albino actually took it. He rubbed the cloth over his face, slowly but with pressure, as though he were physically scraping the dirt and grime off... which was probably fairly accurate.

"Do you want me to help with your body?" At a sudden, sharp glance from Gilbert, Ludwig threw up his hands. "If you want! Of course I would let you wash your -- um, genetalia."

Gilbert's expression was trying to form into something nasty, his lips slanting hard in a frown though it quickly dropped with a deep, defeated sigh. Ludwig knew he wouldn't ask for help... but he'd give him this much. He held out the new washcloth to Gilbert, but hesitated when he heard his brother's voice, harsh and uneven and quiet from disuse.

"You'll _let_ me wash my dick. You'll _let_ me wash my ass." He closed his eyes, this bath and even the act of speaking obviously exhausting him despite the venom in his voice. "How kind."

Ludwig winced internally, realizing he'd said the wrong thing. But Gilbert still took the proffered cloth nonetheless. He washed himself slowly and carefully, the act taking a good amount of concentration on his part in order to do it properly. It must have been exhausting, the younger could almost see him beginning to slow and sag with effort and exhaustion. This was... He'd never dealt with nursing anyone back to health, he'd never _had_ to. It had always been him being cared for by Gilbert. And honestly, he didn't know if the albino would accept his help. He was so proud and took himself incredibly seriously... which wasn't always a bad thing. One must take oneself at least a _bit_ seriously.

When Gilbert dropped the rag into the water with finality, Ludwig asked, "Finished?"

All he received was a nod, but he drained the water nonetheless. By the time the tub was empty, Gilbert was shivering. Ludwig grabbed the shower head, stretching the hose down and handing it to Gilbert.

"Here. Finish rinsing off and I'll grab you some clothes."

"No."

Ludwig froze, startled by what almost seemed like fear in Gilbert's voice. "What?"

The albino wasn't looking at him. "My clothes smell. Just give me a pair of sweatpants."

With a nod, Ludwig left the room, and as he closed the door, his heart leapt. This was the first conversation they'd had since Gilbert had returned. It hadn't been the reunion he'd been hoping for, but this was something, wasn't it? Ludwig ventured into his room to dig through the drawers, pulling out a pair of sweat pants. Ludwig frowned - Gilbert would be swimming in these. He didn't understand why Gilbert's clothes would smell, unless they weren't being washed regularly.

"Here you are," When Ludwig saw that Gilbert was struggling to stand, he rushed to his brother's side, a spike of panic running up his spine. "Here wait! I'll help you." It was hard, but Gilbert's glare wasn't as savage and deep as it used to be, so the blond was able to ignore it. "Here, step out carefully. And here's a towel for you."

Gilbert fairly snatched the towel from Ludwig's loose grip, and as he gingerly took a seat on the lid of the toilet, Ludwig imagined in his mind's eye the man snarling like a wounded animal. It was a ridiculous image, unbidden, but he couldn't help but think that it might be accurate.

Once dry, Gilbert was no longer shivering, but he would be soon, without a shirt and all. "If you need any help --"

"Stop while you're ahead." Gilbert sneered at him. Ludwig ignored the pain that lanced through him from those words, and those dull eyes that tried for a threatening glare but failed miserably. Ludwig meekly backed away, placing the folded sweatpants on the sink. But he didn't leave. It was obvious Gilbert wanted to yell at him to go, but even in his weakness and anger and all else, he had never been a stupid man. He needed help, and he knew it.

Putting on the sweatpants was a struggle, and both men seemed to breathe a sigh of relief when the elder finally succeeded.

"I'm going to clean out the basement --" At this, Gilbert flushed again, though he remained expressionless. " -- but it might take a while. Honestly I don't even know if I'm going to start today. For now, if it's okay with you, I'll have you take one of the guest rooms."

They left the bathroom slowly, and though Gilbert didn't seem pleased with the idea of the guest room (not that he seemed very pleased with anything) he allowed Ludwig to lead him quietly and without complaint. The door to the guest room was already open -- a large, grey dog was lounging on the queen sized bed as though he owned it. It lifted its great, wolf-like head and huffed quietly, shaking it before sighing heavily.

"Luger, get down." Ludwig commanded sternly, before shooting an aplogetic glance at Gilbert. He was shocked when he met a livid, red gaze and shrank back like a boy before a belting.

"Why the _fuck_  are your dogs in the _fucking house_?" The albino seethed. "And on your _furniture_? Are you a fucking savage, that you'd allow _animals_ to run rampant in your home?"

Ludwig opened and closed his mouth once, twice, unsure of how to respond other than, "What the hell?"

"Dogs belong in the kennel! Not pampered indoors like people!" Gilbert turned back to the room, spitting over the threshhold. "I will not sleep here."

A flare of anger surged within Ludwig, but he tamped it down. He was a patient man. He _was_. Within reason. "Gilbert, times have changed." The albino bristled visibly, but he pushed on. "They stay in the house. I eat with them and I sleep with them. We're friends, partners, _family_. Not master and servent. I love them and I don't want to leave them out in the elements. I want them to be healthy and happy."

He saw irate confusion on Gilbert's face. He was probably thinking that dogs were happy before, being kept outside, but he kept anything on his mind to himself. He was probably exhausted from his small burst of anger, and if Ludwig looked closely, he could see that he was shaking.

"Nevertheless, I'll take you into another room." the younger added at length. 

He turned and took Gilbert across the hall, opening a door to an animal free room. The albino strode into the room without a word and buried himself beneath the blankets before Ludwig could ask _How's this, instead?_

"I'll come back in a bit with some food and some water -- something easily digestible."

"I don't want anything," The blankets replied.

"You have to eat something, your body is weaker now than it was when you got here!" So help him, if Ludwig had to force food down his brother's throat, he would.

"Nobody's fault but my own."

"Are you _trying_ to make yourself suffer?"

"Hmm... Not really." Came the uninterested reply. "But all the same. I did it to myself. So I'll take care of myself." Ludwig almost got out a retort, but Gilbert talked right over him in his strained, hoarse voice. "Don't play dumb with me. You're not a fucking child. You know exactly what this is." Ludwig didn't feel the need to ask what _this_ was. Gilbert was right -- he _knew_. "I'm not your fucking responsibility. Stop doing this."

This time, Ludwig couldn't hold back his anger.  "What is _wrong_  with you?" He snapped. "I'm trying to _help_ you!"

Gilbert threw back the covers and shot up, his hellish temper exploding in the first display of vibrant emotion that Ludwig had seen since the War. He honest to God _roared_  the next words, shocking Ludwig so much that he was rooted to the spot. "I don't need anything from the God damned cunt who destroyed my life!"

It was a moment or two until the hurt set in. Exhibiting a massive amount of control, Ludwig kept his expression carefully blank, and it wasn't all an act. After the first impact, he seemed to go numb... like he couldn't handle this all at once -- like his mind was trying to protect him from too much emotional pain. He nodded to his brother almost mindlessly, his agreement and aquiescence automatic. He backed away and shut the door.

**XxXxXxXxXxX**

He was getting stronger. Still jittery and twitchy, still jumping at the lightest sounds, but stronger. The one and only time he had stepped out of the house was dragging Ludwig with him to the store, claiming that he would pay the blond back once he got ahold of the funds he'd squirrled away. They bought tools, wood, and locks, all through Ludwig's complaints that they _had_ all of this in the tool shed already, to which Gilbert replied that _Ludwig_ had all of this -- not him.

Gilbert kept the receipt, and Ludwig spent somewhere near a week agonizing over how his brother was delusional, speaking of these grand amounts of money in unntouchable bank accounts... So when, the following week, the exact amount of money from that trip to the store was back in Ludwig's account, he had no idea how to react.

There was a constant buzz of noise now in the freshly cleaned basement. The blond had no idea what he was doing and once again rarely saw him. All he knew was that about five new locks were going on the door of the basement, and he didn't have the keys.

But other than that one trip... Gilbert wasn't leaving the house.

Oh sure, he was building his strength back up fine. Ludwig nearly had a heart attack when he heard something heavy fall in his gym -- his first thought was the dogs: _What if  they knocked something over? What if something fell on one of them?_ Ludwig always kept the door to the weight room closed for the dogs' safety, but there was always the chance that, no matter how small, he may have forgotten to close the door behind him. However, when he skidded to a halt in front of the open doorway, he saw no dogs. Rather, there was loud, heavy rock music permeating the room at a volume that was almost painful. There was a barbell on the floor -- not where he'd left it -- with weight plates on either end -- not where he'd left those, either -- with the addition of a water bottle and shirt, both thrown haphazardly to the floor. Further back was the albino himself, a thin sheen of sweat covering his bare torso, no longer sickly in pallor or thinness, though he still seemed to be underweight. Gilbert had ignored Ludwig in favor of concentrating on pull ups, so Ludwig took the opportunity to watch.

Though he didn't act like he was being watched, he knew Gilbert knew. Ludwig decided he was doing this under the guise of making sure that the albino was remaining healthy and gaining a good amount of weight. The music was really grating on him, though -- he liked rock, he really _did_ , but all this band seemed to do was scream and growl like a pack of demons. Just because he'd heard similar sounds, along with popular punk bands eminating from the depths of the basement didn't mean he was used to it by any stretch. 

Yes, Gilbert knew he was being watched, and when Ludwig's gaze became probing, seeking, penetrating, the albino _almost_ seemed to shiver, _almost_ seemed to want to squirm a bit under that clear blue gaze. He stopped what he was doing and finally turned around, meeting Ludwig's eyes in irritation with his usual haughtiness. At least his attitude had returned... even though all of that attitude was generally directed toward Ludwig.

Gilbert opened his mouth, something in his gaze lending itself to confusion, but Ludwig spoke first. "Don't you want to see anyone?"

That honestly wasn't what Ludwig thought he was going to say, and Gilbert looked just about as startled as the blond felt.

"Uh." Ludwig could see Gilbert's gears turning. "What do you mean?" He seemed almost suspicious and -- Ludwig tried so hard not to look, not to see -- but he wondered, not for the first time, about those new scars (new since the second War) on the man's back and chest and arms _and face_ , and if they had anything to do with the albino's now skittish nature.

"Like... don't you have anyone you want to have over?" Ludwig questioned almost helplessly. "Or... do you want to go out drinking with anyone?"

Gilbert stared at Ludwig, the realization of what he was doing just dawning on him and a patronizing, almost _pitying_ smile slid onto his face.

"Luddy." It was the first time that Gilbert had called him that -- or any other nickname for that matter -- since he'd been back. The younger couldn't help the butterflies in his stomach, even as his chest tightened with how his name was sneered, and he hated himself for loving in such a way the man who'd raised him. "Luddy, if I want to see someone, I'll go see them. It's as simple as that."

Which was untrue, but Gilbert didn't know that. "But the fact is, _you haven't._ " And Ludwig didn't want to argue with his brother, he really _didn't_ , but he was getting worried. "It's fine if you don't want to, if you're not ready, it's just..." _unlike you_. What was like Gilbert, now? Did Ludwig even know the man any more?

"It's _what_?" Gilbert puncuated the last word with a scowl. "Listen, kid." Ludwig's eyebrow twitched at that. "I don't need to explain myself to you. You should already understand why I don't want to fucking talk to anyone."

But Ludwig _didn't_ understand. Surely there were some people that Gilbert wasn't angry with. At the blond's no doubt clueless look, Gilbert sighed almost angrily and shook his head, turning around to face the full length mirror that spanned the back wall of the gym.

"Just forget it." He squatted in front of the barbell, steadying his grip before hoisting it into the air. He placed it on the back of his shoulders and proceded to straighten his legs, before squatting again. Clearly, the conversation was over on Gilbert's end.

Ludwig left it at that. That had been about two days ago. Now, he came to the door of the basement with a sheet of paper clutched hopefully in his hands. Ludwig wasn't the type to go out himself, at least not without plenty of goading. But when Ludwig went clubbing, he went _all out_.

After a few drinks, of course.

He knocked on the door and looked down at the list he had. It was names and numbers of people that he'd thought his brother had been friends with in the past, people he might want to go out with. Ludwig would tag along with the excuse that _he needed to get out anyway._ He didn't need to linger around them... he would just need to satisfy the contract he'd signed. 

Pounding echoed through the walls as Gilbert climbed the stairs.

Everyone on the list seemed acceptable, at least to Ludwig...

_Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, Francis Bonnefoy_ (though come to think of it, those two may have been a mistake), _Alfred Jones, Arthur Kirkland, Elizaveta Héderváry, Alisdair Kirkland, Magnus Kohler, Sigfried Beilschmidt,_ and even _Roderich Edelstein_... though that one may be a mistake as well. 

The door opened after the sound of all six of the basement's locks unlatching. Gilbert's bored face peered out from behind the doorway. "What."

Ludwig was at a loss for words. He'd rehearsed this in front of the mirror. He _really had_ , but Gilbert always seemed to strike him dumb, somehow. His snow white hair had taken on a healthier sheen, and his paper white skin now had a very faint pinkish hue.

Gilbert leaned in, _way too close_ and he snapped his fingers impatiently. "The fuck you _want_?"

"Oh!" Ludwig jerked his eyes up to gaze into Gilbert's red orbs, burning with annoyance. "I just. I made a list of people you might like to contact... with their numbers and... if you need any more I would be happy to provide them --"

"You tryna kick me out?"

Gilbert never spoke like this. He used slang, he cursed, but his German was always very precise if unintelligable by those who were unable to understand High Prussian (which was most people).

"Are you drunk?"

"What's it to ya?"

Ludwig just looked at him for a moment before sighing, shaking his head. He wasn't looking for a fight. He proceeded to display the paper he held to his brother, meekly dropping his gaze. "I was just thinking that you don't have the contact information for people... people who were on the West side. I don't mean anything by it, I just don't want you to feel isolated. If you want to go out or go to a night club or a concert... you can. _We_ can."

For a moment, Gilbert was quiet, and Ludwig chanced a look at his expression. It was utterly blank, a perfect poker face. Somehow, Ludwig wasn't surprised.

"I don't need you to fucking coddle me." He finally spat, almost under his breath. Snatching the paper from Ludwig's fingers, he gave it a cursory scan before throwing a vicious glare at the blond. "If I want something, you'll know." And the door was slammed in Ludwig's face.

He had become so, so cold. But that last statement, however facetiously said, Ludwig would cling to.

**XxXxXxXxXxX**

It wouldn't be for another month or so --mid March, to be exact -- until Gilbert would take Ludwig up on the offer.

"Hey!" Gilbert slammed his hand against the wall inside of the blond's office, needlessly violent in an attempt to garner Ludwig's attention.

Ludwig set his notepad down next to his oppressively bulky computer monitor, before taking off his thick-rimmed glasses and rubbing tired eyes. He swiveled around in his chair to gaze at his brother, the apprehension already rising in his chest. Things had been... tenuous, at best between them. It was as though he'd reverted back to the man Ludwig had always heard about but never met -- cunning and battle hardened, vicious, a wild animal.

Something flitted across Gilbert's visage when Ludwig turned, but the blond was too exhausted to decipher it. He'd been mired in paperwork all week and even working diligently, he'd fallen behind.

"We're going out tonight."

It took a moment to process, and it was such a shift from the norm that he had to blink dumbly, replying with a "Huh?"

"We're going out." Gilbert leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. He'd grown bulkier over the past two months -- still leaner than Ludwig, but he'd always been. He wasn't back to normal by any means, but he was getting there. He was making great progress and Ludwig had to guess that being a Nation (even if not in name) had something to do with it. Though... it was physical progress, only.

Not to completely discount this new desire to leave the house, by any means.

Ludwig's eyebrows rose slightly, the only visible indication of interest. Gilbert's eyes darted around to the papers scattered about the desk, as well as the rest of the office.

"Don't worry about this shit.  It's not important."

Ludwig begged to differ. "This is my _work_! It's very important, and currently it is not only disorganized but _piling up_!"  Ludwig rubbed his eyes again. "I know I was encouraging you to get out of the house, but--"

The doorbell rang, and as though the albino hadn't even been listening to Ludwig, he darted to the entrance (the dogs beat him there, Ludwig guessed from the sound) with a mutter of _Still gotta get dressed..._

Seeing no way out of this, Ludwig decided he would have to fabricate some sort of excuse to present to Chanceller Kohl to appease any prying as to why his work was not only late, but incomplete. Rising from his chair, he didn't even bother to clean up his office, and trailed after his brother. Registering hushed voices speaking English in the entryway through the excited whine and yip of dogs, the blond slowed, hanging back, automatically getting the feeling he was walking into something he shouldn't be.

_"  ... did it take so long..."_

_" ... can't believe... "_

_" ... have to go out..."_

_"... can't stand this fucking..."_

_" ... okay?..."_

_"... are those from..."_

A frustrated groan.

"Seriously, back off!" That was Gilbert, a little louder and obviously uncomfortable. His English was just as heavily accented as it had always been.

It dawned on Ludwig that maybe they shouldn't be going out to the club for Gilbert's first very social activity in a few months... or really, who knows _how_ long?

"I fuckin' told ya, mate, this ain't an interrogation." There was the sound of someone getting smacked and a whine. He knew who was in his home before he came around the corner.

Arthur and Magnus were lounging on the bench by the shoe rack, conversing with Gilbert who stood, leaned back against the opposite wall with his arms crossed. Those red eyes flickered to Ludwig, registering his presence, and said, "You're really early. I still need to go and change." He jerked his head over to the blond. "So does that one."

Ludwig narrowed his eyes, but said nothing. It was true, in his navy, green and yellow tracksuit, the jacket unzipped to display a not so clean white t-shirt, he was not dressed for the club. He couldn't see much beneath Magnus's red leather jacket, but the man wore boxy, bleached out and ripped jeans, rolled up to show well-worn and stretched out combat boots, left untied. Arthur wore far less clothing, despite the March chill in the air. He wore a cropped denim jacket, filled with patches and safety pins. He wore no shirt, exhibiting plenty of tattoos as well as scars along his torso, though he wore many rings as well as a pair of black suspenders with spikes he probably glued on himself. His jeans were dark, closer to grey, matching the denim of his jacket, and held up by two studded belts. They were tighter than Magnus's and full of holes. Though some of these holes looked to be held together by strings of safety pins.

Gilbert appeared to dress similarly, or so Ludwig thought. He'd washed his clothes that one time, and there were many items that reminded him of Arthur's street wear. He wasn't sure, ultimately because he'd never seen Gilbert all dressed for the day, to leave the house, since before --

Well.

That particular line of thought doing him no good, he decided he should probably go and get dressed.

"How is he doing?" Magnus asked, his eyes glued to the basement door.

Ludwig shrugged. "He's back to himself, physically. But... he's had a lot of problems." He couldn't bring himself to say it, but he feared Gilbert would be back into drugs the first chance he had. Like tonight. "Psychologically speaking, I couldn't tell you if he'll ever be the same."

Arthur shifted to look at him, pinning him with acidic green eyes. "Has he told you what happened?" It was said with an air of knowing, but maybe that was just Ludwig's own paranoia, his own shame that he had no idea what was going on in his brother's life.

But he was not his brother's keeper.

"No."

Arthur's expression became at first incredulous, then, after darting his eyes to the basement door, he seemed almost crestfallen. "I see."

And that was Ludwig's cue to go and change clothes. "I'm sorry." He said, though he wasn't sure why he said it. "He doesn't really talk to me, much. And when we do talk, we usually fight." About the big things, the little things, the "principle of the matter," it didn't make a difference. Sometimes Ludwig got fed up and really fanned the flames of the argument -- he was a very patient man, but he wasn't perfect -- but most of the time, he could admit without bias that it was Gilbert's fault. He never knew what the man would lash out at next.

It looked like both his guests were about to say something, but he cut them off. "Forget it. I'm going up to chance. You two can help yourself to anything you'd like in the kitchen... and Magnus?"

"Hm?"

"You know where my dog food is. Could you let them out, and feed them, please?" An unorthodox thing to ask of a guest, but they were neighbors, and ended up seeing each other often, whether through coincidence or work. Often times Magnus would stay in Ludwig's home, or even vice versa. It had taken awhile for the Dane to feel safe in the home of the German, but they'd always had this sort of comfortable rhythm with each other and they had picked back up (if not without a bit of tension) a few decades after the war.

"Yep!" He replied, and set about doing it.

Ludwig trudged upstairs. Honestly, he had no idea what he wanted to wear. Were any of his clothes really appropriate for this setting? He had no idea. As soon as he got into his room, he grabbed the phone and dialed a number.

"Bonsoir **[1].** " Came the mildly disinterested greeting, and Ludwig grimaced.

"Hallo. It's Ludwig."

"Oh, it's you." It wasn't said in a nasty way. "How is Gilbert?"

_How is Gilbert?_ Always the same fucking question, these days, before they even asked about the German. And wouldn't Ludwig like to know how Gilbert was? He was just as clueless as anyone! But he tried to push down his bitterness -- after all, he needed some help.

"Same as before. We don't talk much, as I've told you." Francis made a regretful sound into the receiver, and Ludwig went on. "I... I'm going to a club."

"Oh, how fun!" A pause, "But who's dragging you? And what about Gilbert?"

Ludwig sighed heavily. "Gilbert is the one dragging me... I told him to tell me if he wanted to go out, and gave him some phone numbers --" Ludwig heard an intake of breath but spoke over it as though he hadn't noticed. " -- so that he wouldn't feel isolated. And suddenly Arthur and Magnus are at my home ready to go out."

There was a short silence from Francis, before a slow inhale. "The blue parachute pants -- you know the ones -- they're ridiculously shiny. As for a shirt..." He sounded like he was sincerely contemplating Ludwig's wardrobe, which was both a relief and slightly disturbing that he knew the German's clothing selection so well. "Wear one of your torn up tank tops, the grey one that's kind of loose. A leather jacket, and... I trust you can pick your shoes. Big, chunky trainers might be nice."

Ludwig nodded, already locating each item in his mind's eye. "Noted."

"And lose the hair gel for once, alright?"

Ludwig gave a sharp nod before forgetting that he couldn't be seen. "Okay." The thought of going au natural gave the blond shivers, but he thrust that down. For some reason, he was a bit excited, and though this wasn't out of the norm, tonight he was _very_ concerned about his appearance. "Thank you."

"De rien." Francis answered tightly, and okay, maybe they weren't exactly back onto great terms. They never really had been... but they'd been working much more closely lately, and wasn't that a start?

"Um..." Ludwig shifted uncomfortably.

"Oui, go and get yourself ready. Have fun, petit aigle **[2]**." He abruptly hung up, but that little name made Ludwig smile.

He hastened to get ready, carefully procuring each item Francis had listed off. Once dressed, he went into his bathroom. He thought he looked alright... but was alright good enough? He wet his hair in the sink, carefully working out the stiff gel before drying it with a hand towel. He brushed his teeth and looked at himself closely. His hair was drying quickly enough, so that was a plus. But God, did he look exhausted. Shaking his head, he pushed those thoughts away and, with mounting anxiety, he grabbed his shoes and headed downstairs.

Arthur and Magnus didn't so much as blink at the German's appearance, so he figured Francis told him the right thing. He still felt weird about it, but really, he just wanted to wear something that would make Gilbert really _look_  at him. It was probably wishful thinking, though.

"Gil is taking forever," Magnus groaned, leaning against the kitchen counter.

Arthur had hopped up on the counter next to him and was idly swinging his legs. "That one's always been a fucking diva." He snorted. "Sometimes I imagine he's even worse than the frog. At this rate, we'll never leave."

"But this will be fun." A smug smile bloomed across the Dane's visage. "Y'know, kid, we haven't gone clubbing in a good while. A few months, I think."

Ludwig wanted to scowl at being called _kid_ , but as much as he pretended to forget, both men in front of him were much older than himself. So he decided that, in favor of respecting seniority, he'd let the comment go.

"Agreed." He replied with a nod. "I don't believe I've seen you in a private capacity for at least that long."

He barked a laugh. "No need to be so formal with us. You sound ridiculous."

Ludwig could have kicked himself. He hadn't meant to sound so serious and formal... it just happened. A few moments passed in silence that was only _slightly_ uncomfortable, and Ludwig found his mind wandering, wondering exactly what Gilbert could be up to that had him taking so long.

Once again, he could kick himself. He'd completely forgotten. The suddenness of all of this coupled with his own exhaustion was throwing him off.

"Hey." He began, getting their attention with a low but grave tone. "There's something you need to know about Gilbert... and the conditions I was given to have him back here." Both men frowned, but said nothing, so the German continued. "Whenever he leaves the house, he must be escorted by me, or by an armed guard. There will always be guards watching us and following us, of course, and every property I own is under surveillance. But... I haven't told Gilbert."

All was silent, until Arthur loudly bit out, "You cannot be _serious_!"

"What do you mean, you _haven't told him?"_ Magnus added in with consternation. "How could you keep such vital information from him?"

"Gods above and below, he's gonna be fuckin' _pissed_  when he finds out."

"And you fucking know he'll find out somehow, he's not stupid, Ludwig."

"I know, I know!" Ludwig snapped, tiredly rubbing his face. "I just... I'll tell him. Just not yet."

They were quiet for a moment, but then Arthur opened his mouth to speak. He was interrupted.

"You kids playing nice up here?" Came Gilbert's rasping voice (much improved since he'd arrived) from outside the kitchen. And shortly after, the man himself appeared.

"I'm way older than you, so don't give me that!" Arthur gave Gilbert a shove.

"I'm older than all of you!" Magnus snapped, "So I don't wanna fuckin' hear it!"

Pretending to be harshly chastised, Gilbert slunk over to the far side of the kitchen, though he obviously had trouble keeping a mischievious grin off his face.

Ludwig had trouble paying attention to the other two in the room. He had only eyes for Gilbert. The man's hair was tousled and gently spiked with gel that was just the right side of stiff. His complexion was smoothed out, and he had put kohl all around his eyes, as well as two stripes across his nose -- the top one being longer and extending to about the middle of his eyes. There was a thick, vertical stripe splitting the center of his bottom lip, continuing down his chin, and he heard Arthur say that he'd never seen Gilbert look so weirdly tribal. He wore all of his piercings in now -- at least more obviously than he was before -- and his nose ring attached to a delicate chain, up to his earring. He wore no shirt, but a denim vest with patches and spikes not unlike Arthur's jacket. It was a dark navy, and there was a huge anarchy symbol on the back. Ludwig gave pause at that, but decided to come back to that later. His pants were _tight_ , like they'd been painted on, and were a red plaid in coloration. They didn't seem to be long, but were rolled up anyway to mid calf, displaying thick soled oxblood combat boots.

He was stunning. Truly.

A finger snapped in front of his face, and he jumped. "Ludwig," Arthur peered up at him. "Are you ready? What are you doing?"

"Oh," he blinked. "Scheiße. Verzeihung. **[3]** Just let me get my wallet and keys."

He grabbed up his wallet from the kitchen counter and headed for the door, pausing next to his office with a sigh. He was roughly shoved forward.

"You worry way too much." Gilbert's forced carefree tone was too close to Ludwig's ear. "It'll be taken care of, let loose for once in your miserable existence."

Ignoring the jab in favor of worrying over his work, Ludwig sighed again. He _was_ worried. Because he knew damned well that if he let loose like they wanted him to, he wouldn't be finishing his work tonight. But... maybe that couldn't be helped.

**XxXxXxXxXxXxX**

They stood unsteadily on their high seats at the bar, the pounding on the counter echoing in their roaring blood. Ludwig lifted the shot ski up with the other three, the pounding on the counter becoming more and more intense as the shot glasses reached their lips. When they lowered the ski, everyone was cheering, but it died down quickly enough, and the bar tender took the shot ski from them so they could get down.

Ludwig stumbled onto the dancefloor for his third round with the sweaty bodies and pounding music. His brain buzzed blissfully, and he allowed himself to feel like he was floating, not bothering to reign in control. It wasn't long and people were dancing with him again. At first, he'd been to hesitant to dance with a partner, let along at all. But the entire night, he'd felt eyes on him, and the more he drank the more he decided it was a great idea to allow his exhibitionism to take over.

He felt hands on him, a body moving against his back in time with the music. Those hands roved over his broad, firm chest, slipping inside of his tank top to tweak a nipple. Ludwig gasped, pressing in closer to this stranger. But then those hands, they went too far. One reached down to grope his crotch and the blond jolted, instinctively trying to leap away from the man but it was impossible, given how packed the dance floor was. His mind weakened with inebriation, he pawed at the hands on him, trying to get them off, trying to communicate that he needed this to stop, but it _wasn't working_. Just when Ludwig was beginning to seriously consider whirling around and punching this guy in the face, he felt the crowd jostle and jerk behind him, and whoever had been molesting him was displaced with a grunt.

In his place, strong, calloused hands worked their way from his shoulders, down his muscular arms, almost massaging him, and Ludwig had the strangest fantasy that this touch was incredibly familiar. He leaned into the touch without thinking, and the man embraced him, wrapping his arms around his waist and pressing his body into Ludwig's back. He felt the bare arms, skin not so smooth as though it was punctuated by marks and maybe scars, and then the roughness of fabric rubbing against his exposed skin. When the man leaned in to bite at Ludwig's neck, he shuddered, and -- 

And, suddenly, he was roughly shoved away, cruelly even. He stumbled forward, nearly falling but for some strangers that steadied him. He slurred out a _vielen dank_ **[4]**  and made his way back to the bar. Magnus was no where to be found, though Arthur was escaping the throng and joining Ludwig.

"Shouldn't you be keeping an eye on Gilbert?" He clumsily slid up onto a chair next to the German.

Ludwig shrugged. The Prussian was an adult. He could take care of himself.

"What if he gets overwhelmed? Or tries to escape?"

"Ich glaube nicht, dass er es würde. **[5]** " He replied with nonchalance.

Arthur gave him a look. "Yer lucky I speak German,"

Ludwig just grunted. He was still reeling a bit from what happened on the dance floor. He couldn't help but wonder just what in the hell happened... His eyes scanned the crowd for Gilbert, people and lights blurring together in a haze. He thought he saw a shock of white hair over in a dimly lit corner with some others, but he couldn't be sure... Then he saw an intense, blood red stare fall on him. At least, that's what he _thought_ he saw. People had been looking at him all night, and Ludwig was aware that he was at the very least _not unattractive_. But that fierce gaze, those eyes of ruby carnage, _those_ penetrated his very soul. That was the gaze he'd felt creeping up his spine the entire night.

But then it was gone, and Ludwig honestly couldn't tell if he was so far gone that he was beginning to imagine things.

The night went on, and they all got a little crazy, but Gilbert remained mostly sober as far as Ludwig could see. It was he who decided they should probably go home. It was he that shoved them all into Ludwig's car and it was he who drove them home, after checking to see everyone had everything they'd arrived with. It was he who led them all inside, he who forced water down their throats by the gallon, and he who showed Arthur and Magnus the guest rooms. He set water bottles by their bed, gave them clothes to sleep in, and set out Aspirin, with the promise of breakfast in the morning. It was he who made sure Ludwig was taken care of as well, and would be okay, and God, those eyes burned through him, and the younger thought to ask,

"Sleep with me?" Even he couldn't tell what his intentions were, he just _needed_ Gilbert.

But the elder jerked away as though burned, and through his haze of alcohol Ludwig felt a dull pang in his chest. He realized he'd overstepped his bounds, but it had just _come out_. Gilbert seemed to understand, as he set two Aspirin on his his night stand next to a bottle of water, and he gently brushed a hard, calloused hand through Ludwig's hair before murmuring a _goodnight_ in his stubbornly spoken High Prussian -- it was a dead language, really, but he just couldn't let it _go_  -- and quietly left the room, closing the door so the dogs wouldn't come in and disturb him.

Ludwig didn't remember much the following morning, and spent the majority of it hugging the toilet. He assumed Magnus and Arthur had done the same, as they both looked the worse for wear, though he learned Arthur hadn't actually upended his entire stomach -- not to say he wasn't nauseous. The Brit didn't even want to consider breakfast. But with the thought of breakfast in mind, they went in search of Gilbert, who'd promised the morning meal to all three of them. The dogs were clamoring to go out at the back door, and as Ludwig was closing it, barely capable of squinting into the rising sun to see his dogs racing out back, Magnus tugged on his arm.

Ludwig met his eyes with question, but the Dane just pressed a finger to his lips. He looked to Arthur, who stood outside of the office, a small, tired smile on his lips. He gently jerked his head toward the interior of the room, and Ludwig quietly crept over.

Inside, they found Gilbert, sleeping under the desk. Everything was clean -- spotless, really -- and upon checking, Ludwig found all documents were placed in the correct files. He jiggled the mouse on his computer, and saw that any and all documents meant for the chancellor had already been emailed or faxed, and that the chancellor had received them and would read them over sometime today. It was a shock. It really was. He had seen signs to the contrary, but was overall convinced that Gilbert hated him. But as he gazed at the man under the desk, circles under his eyes telling of an exhaustion that was deeper than any of them probably realized, he thought that maybe, just maybe, they would be okay. They could take care of each other again. They could love each other again.

But when Gilbert's eyes snapped open at Ludwig's foot landing next to his head, he jerked up and banged his head against the desk, _hard_. He was immediately hyperventilating, crushing himself up under the desk and making himself as small as possible, and Ludwig knew with despair that things could never be that simple.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> T/N: All translations are from Google Translate. Please correct me if you are fluent in any of the following languages.
> 
> 1) Bonsoir. French; Good evening.
> 
> 2) petit aigle French; little eagle
> 
> 3) Scheiße. Verzeihung. German; Shit. Sorry.
> 
> 4)vielen dank German; thank you
> 
> 5) Ich glaube nicht, dass er es würde. German; I don't think he would.
> 
> **EDIT: I just realized I didn't leave a translation for "de rien," It's "you're welcome" in French.
> 
> A/N:
> 
> For reference, Gilbert is listening to Napalm Death in the gym. I personally like to think that while Arthur is my nasty little punk political activist renegade child, Gilbert is more like my wildly anarchistic death rock goth-ish punk massive problem child who is also largely a people person?? Idk. I'm weird like that haha (There's a lengthy headcanon behind him being an anarchist, just wait for it *wink*)
> 
> Hopefully this chapter was good, and hopefully Gilbert's recovery is realistic. I'm really trying for something more realistic, but honestly I don't know if I'm maybe rushing things? I'll try to make the next fic in this series from Gilbert's point of view. Still one more chapter in this fic, though! We're two thirds done!
> 
> I would love it if you left feedback for me, and please do tell me what exactly you think is going on in this chapter! I want to hear your inferences :)
> 
> If you want to see pictures of what everyone was wearing, go to thr Wattpad chapter!!

**Author's Note:**

> Uh. I don't know if I'm happy with this chapter. I don't know if I'm happy with Ludwig's representation here. I've never written him before. He may change in the next chapter, just a bit. We'll see. I kind of want to go back and change some things, or make some things a bit more... clear? Or put emphasis on more things. But I'm also afraid of making this too drawn out in places that's not necessary. Oh well. Please comment and tell me what you think.


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